


Dalliance

by unforciablecure



Category: Disobedience (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforciablecure/pseuds/unforciablecure
Summary: It always began with a kiss.





	Dalliance

It begins with a shared smile, silhouetted by the brightness of a studio light, and the sudden flicker of a camera flash that burns, lingering with an imprint on the retina.

Observing Ronit in her natural habitat is like having cold hands pressed against glass, peering in with equally curious eyes. 

Except there’s no glass and this safari ride is one through the concrete jungle of the New York City art world. It’s, arguably, just as wild.

Esti knew with a deep understanding that she should have been feeling out of place. She’s the unfamiliar in a black dress hovering against the backdrop of the familiar. It’s her connection to Ronit that welcomes her in - an invisible visitor’s pass slung loosely around her neck - because she’s here as Ronit’s unofficial plus one.

Esti should havebeen feeling out of place - all things considered - but the sentiment never quite seeps through. Instead, Esti was grasping a glass of champagne that she hadn’t touched since arrival, the pointed kind of visual support, observing Ronit from the sidelines as the distinct sound of a camera shutter _click click clicked._

It’s champagne because it’s New York.

Ronit’s words rang breathlessly and teasingly through her mind. They had laughed at the ridiculousness of it all; at the splurge on an event to commemorate the anniversary of a struggling business surviving to see another month through. It’s an earned celebration to a stressful seven months spent working.

It’s a work anniversary that Ronit was working tonight. August’s gallery opening is a major event and, more artistically, a meet-the-photographer walk in installation. Esti’s previous analogies to safari rides and zoo life have never appeared more apt because Ronit, in a way, is on display. She’s poked and prodded in the mind by the New York hipsters - by the scene goers who are pooling their money into supporting a local studio - and by the critical wit unleashed by reviewers and writers alike. Ronit worked the crowd as the charismatic character Esti had always remembered she was.

Ronit’s home had never been London, not really.

Ronit’s home is in the spacious halls, artwork adorning high walls of city galleries; the ones with crystal clear windows and city lights shimmering in. Ronit’s home is New York. 

Ronit spoke with passion, held eye contact and enticed the art crowd over for a spur of the moment snap to quote unquote ‘capture the night’.

Esti absorbed everything; the way in which Ronit’s eyes twinkled in the light when altering the settings on her camera tripod, the enjoyment splayed across her face and the slight smirk which unfolded when their eyes met unexpectedly across the floor. Esti felt the room around her sway, the artistic bodies and voices blurring, as she heard her breath being drawn away. It now appeared to be in another room. Esti’s heart thudded out of time and she felt like she was seventeen all over again. Ronit’s eyes shimmered with temptation, betraying an inward battle that she was reluctantly winning, because they were both astutely aware of what they’d rather be doing on this Friday night.

When Ronit glanced away, Esti relocated her breath, slowly, lost in a momentary daze, before she took what she’s fondly termed as a New York Gulp of champagne and slunk off to the left. If Ronit had to work then Esti needed a less distracting distraction. She slipped into the hallway, weaving around a passing couple, before moving into another room. Upon entering, Esti took another sip of champagne.

The two prints on display in this room were medium sized portraits. Esti had seen them before, framed in symmetry on Ronit’s laptop screen. One was of a man sitting on a bench in Central Park, heartbreak heavy in his eyes, and the other situated to its right, a juxtaposition. Again, it featured the same man, recognizable by his greying hair and ageing wrinkles, but this time he was happy, snapped candidly as he stood resting against a rusting subway sign.

Esti grasped her champagne glass with both hands, admiring the pictures that only a photographer’s eye could have sourced. The lining was right - as was the light - the perfection that only experience could entail, pulling together minor details to encapsulate forever. Esti stood in the room, alone, the light murmuring of the mingling crowd fading into the background. She had been gifted a private moment to breathe and to observe. The studio around her had grown to be a comfort, a familiar hideaway in a city that still retained most of its mystique, sheltering behind and between skyscrapers.

Esti sipped another mouthful of champagne, the liquid forming as a bitter buzz on the apex of her tongue, thoughts turning to the flickering, buzzing light positioned above her head. Esti questioned its authenticity and laughed to herself because it genuinely held the possibility to be an installation piece. This was modern art after all.

Ronit found Esti mid-sip of champagne, eyes narrowed and lost in the portraits.

“Hiding?”

Esti turned around, startled. She camouflaged her spreading fluster by running a hand through her hair, her hair appearing glossy under the flickering light of the room.

“What? No” Esti motioned to the prints hanging on the wall. “I was admiring all of this, actually” She conveyed her admission by a smile, clarifying. “The artwork.”

“Funny, _hmm._ ” Ronit’s eyes flickered between Esti’s lips and her eyes. They were warm, enticing, inviting. Just three droplets in a pool of attraction. “So was I.”

“Is that right?” Esti closed her eyes, briefly, her short laugh developing into a toothy grin. Ronit continually held the power to surprise her. Esti composed herself, nodding to the portraits. “Send my compliments to the artiste.”

“Oh, these silly old things?” Ronit said, giving them the once over. “‘ _The two reflections_ ’?” She laughed sharply at the ridiculousness of the title. Titles were an odd thing, often cheesy in their drama, yet almost always a requirement in the photographic art world. There was a limit, however, to just how many times ‘Untitled’ could be inscribed next to a photograph. Ronit had worn that one out like her favourite pair of shoes.

“Was a wordplay on ‘The Two Ronnies’.” Ronit informed. “Went right over the Americans.” She paused to clarify the meaning behind the title. “His name was Ronald.”

Esti blinked, turning her head with amusement and curiosity. Ronit was glowing.

“Are you _trolling_  the people of New York?”

“Oh, completely.” Ronit admitted proudly. “British heritage. It’s a fundamental fact.”

Esti laughed, holding her champagne glass, Ronit’s reflection shining brightly in her eyes. “Tonight has went really well.” she began, exhaling her proudness. She read the tiredness in Ronit’s eyes like the opening line of a book. It had been a stressful week, shared equally. Things shared normally went better.

“Really? You think?”

“Of course. How are you-“ Esti broke the flow of words when Ronit touched her side, throwing her slightly off balance. “How are you feeling?”

“Drank enough of that god awful champagne to not know any more.” Ronit jested, peering into Esti’s glass. It shimmered like radioactive material. It tasted like it too.

Esti smiled in agreement. “It is pretty awful.”

“And you’re still drinking it?” Ronit teased with an arched brow.

“It’s New York.” Esti delivered dramatically, propping herself into a model’s pose by placing a hand underneath her chin, briefly becoming a statue. “One _ _must__ drink champagne.”

“Vying for authenticity.” Ronit laughed and grazed Esti’s hand. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Well I think.” Esti’s pupils clouded with allure, intrigue and exaltation. They diluted, Ronit the speck of colour to purify them like a drop of rain against the ocean. “And now I have the photographer alone to myself, what ever shall I do?”

“I’m sure you’ll-“ Ronit’s touch drifted from Esti’s hand, lingering against the tip of her hips, tantalisingly. “Work something out.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.” Esti informed, inching into Ronit’s arms, cool breath tinged with a whiff of champagne. She glanced towards the doorway on instinct. It felt like they were going to be interrupted any second now by some fumbling hipster or scene goer. Ronit, after all, was a photographer in demand.

“How terrible that is, being a distraction.” Ronit said, breathlessly. Esti was close now, almost slow stepping across the centre of the room as they shared a moment. The flirtation formed as an almost physical dance, a steady flow of movement.

“But I must warn you.” Ronit added, in a mock tone of seriousness. “I only give interviews to the journals.”

“The journals?” Esti blinked, feeling her grip on her glass wane as Ronit’s wavy hair dared to be touched; a temptation she gave herself over to by abandoning the champagne on a window ledge of the room. Esti pushed her hands through the strands, not a second later, feeling a spark of electricity as she did so. It was a reminder, a distinct pinching of skin on the arm, that Ronit was real and in front of her, that this was New York and they were together. The vast span of time that they had spent apart, all the years, and all the distance, had now collided together - meeting centrally - in an instant and unstoppable pull. They were drawn together and reconnected once again. There was no going back. They weren’t going back.

“What about _The Jewish Messenger?"_ Esti asked, in awe, slightly amused by their duelling wit and equal buffoonery.

“I’ll make an exception.” Ronit informed. “But only on this occasion because I like you.” Ronit drew her breath in, Esti’s touch ever intimate and hypnotic, just before they kissed. They swayed together, revolving across the floor until Esti’s back concluded by facing the portraits hanging on the wall. Esti wasn’t done, however, with disarming Ronit of her breath, doing so with a familiar ease. She tugged Ronit closer by a grip on her neck that was too tight to be nothing except a turn on, kissing Ronit like the evening could hold their final parting kiss before the addition of a careful swipe of tongue. It was, in all, fatal. Ronit pushed closer, pressing Esti against the surrounding wall, barely suppressing a moan as their lips and mouths clashed together.

Esti’s lips were soft, ghosting across Ronit’s when they broke apart for a mouthful of air. 

“You taste of that awful champagne.” she whispered, easing their lips together in procession. Ronit’s mouth creased into a grin as her fingertips danced across Esti’s chin, finding familiar smoothness. Her own breath lingered with traces of cigarettes, the physical remnants of pre-opening jitters. It was too much of a habit to quit now.

“So do you.” Ronit breathed, revitalised by contentment and a playful charm. She caressed Esti’s face, full of tenderness, with her hands. “Are you alright?”

Esti nodded, offering an answer by kissing Ronit’s cheek, moving in turn - slowly - towards her lips before they met again, softly.

“What are you-“ Esti drew away, reluctant, lips lingering for a further caress. She was breathless and overcome, finding that her mind was too preoccupied to be processing the simple flow of words; a familiar side effect inflicted by Ronit. “What are you thinking about?”

“That you’re coping really well with all of this.” Ronit pressed her lips against Esti’s, kissing away another smile. “And that we could really do with getting away from here.”

“Why can’t we?” Esti’s words collided hot against Ronit’s ear, her voice soft and low, as she angled her head. The ideas that had sprung into her mind were difficult to put at ease or forget. “I’ll take you back to our place." 

_Our place._

The statement prodded Ronit’s self-awareness with an electric shock of bliss, reminiscent of two defibrillators reigniting a depleting heartbeat. Esti’s words were true. It was very much theirs, a flat, overlooking a quiet neighbourhood on the Upper West Side. It was small, cramped - it only held one bookcase after all - and situated on a corner, but it was theirs. That was the only small print that mattered.

Esti’s voice rose just above a whisper, her breath feeling almost ticklish as it prodded against Ronit’s face, blowing against a messy strand of hair. Esti held the room with her presence. “We both know what happens there." 

“I don’t.” Ronit murmured quietly, kissing away Esti’s scoff of disbelief and smirk by full lips. She drew back, relishing the closeness. She was as playful as ever. “Remind me, again.”

Esti exhaled a sigh of friskiness. “So easily forgotten, am I?”

An impossibility, Ronit thought, Esti’s touch gliding through her hair.

“Let’s go, then. Let’s leave.” Esti, in all her presence and words, from her sparking eyes to her breathlessness, was a physical manifestation of temptation. It oozed from her in strength, somehow reinforced by the setting they currently found themselves in. The studio chatter blurred forgotten in the background, dulling down as if someone’s hand was fiddling with the volume button. Ronit was on a break.

Esti brought their lips together again, the kiss turning heated as she ran her hands down Ronit’s side, over the material of her white cotton shirt and dark fitted jeans. Esti’s plan, although loose in formation, had worked. Ronit gave herself over for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of being reckless and free, rebelling against the mundane grain that working on a Friday night entailed. Esti kissed her hard and thorough, stealing yet more of her breath away in the process.

Ronit awakened from her trance - from the kissing and the touches - by twisting her lips away, reluctancy heavy in her heart. It was, to say the least, a struggle.

“ _ _Esti__ -”

Esti appeared to break from the haze, blinking as she dampened her bottom lip with a swipe of tongue. Ronit’s whisper of her name captivated her attention.

“ _Esti_ , I-” Ronit said, fighting an inward battle in the physical form of wavering eyes and continuing closeness. Disappointment lingered in her voice and in her face. “I want to - I really want to - but I- I can’t. It’s opening night...” Ronit trailed off, ironing out the pros and cons to abandoning the studio at such short notice. The pros appeared attractive and shiny, equally bold and fascinating, as they demanded most if not all of her attention. Maybe she could be a photographer missing in action. “I have to be here.”

Ronit was being rational. This was - allegedly - only a break after all. Esti was prepared and equipped, however, for the immediate decline of her proposition, her voice low as she exuded unmitigated temptation.

“We could go upstairs.”

Ronit breathed a deep sigh against Esti, conveying her struggle by a further kiss and tangling together of mouths.

“A few more hours.” Ronit said, eyes flickering open, between kisses. “The crowd will disperse, the gallery will be closed.” Ronit caressed Esti’s cheeks, gazing into her eyes as if reinforcing the meaningfulness behind the words. They said, silently, that she was more than tempted to abandon the crowd she was supposed to be working. “It’s just that... this is work and networking happens in a New York minute.”

Esti broke from her trance, once again, licking the lips that Ronit had just kissed. They tasted like allure and they felt like it too. “I understand.”

Ronit’s expression creased into a wince, full of apology. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s my fault for coming along. For…” Esti was breathless. “…being a distraction.”

It always began with a kiss, she thought.

“It’s not, Esti. I wanted you to be here. You have every right to be here.”

Esti shifted on her feet, leaning against the surface of the wall. Ronit’s closeness was overwhelming. “Even as a distraction?” she said, tease ripe in her voice.

“The best kind” Ronit smiled. “But I should probably be getting back. Much art to lament, many critics to offend.”

“Oh, I mustn’t get in the way of that.” Esti’s hands interlocked with Ronit’s. They gazed at one another, unsure of who was to be the first to draw away. It felt like a game and one that they mutually didn’t want to win.

“Can I help with anything?” Esti asked, after a moment, entwining their fingers.

A sigh escaped Ronit’s lips, sole frustration in physical form. It was clear that the night was going to drag in.

“Nothing that’s work related.”

Esti leaned in, hands tangled with Ronit’s, her lips gravitating towards where they belonged. Once again, the development was gauged and predicted by Ronit as her lips parted expectantly. It was to be a reassuring kiss, soft, delicately anticipated but Esti was the unexpected so Ronit should have known.

With a split second interwoven between lips on lips, Esti angled her head, diverting the direction of her lips towards a new location in the form of Ronit’s left ear. Esti whispered a teasing goodbye, gently, one that was mostly air, feeling a sudden jolt as Ronit betrayed an involuntary moan that sent a chill down her spine.

Esti drew her lips closer, voice remaining low. “I know the feeling.”

Ronit’s jaw slackened, Esti’s handhold loosening as she eased away, body lingering with deliberate precision as their bodies brushed together. Ronit was paralysed by humour, surprise and stimulation all at once and in that order, blinking as her body fought to catch up, intoxicated by the feeling of being caught off guard. Esti had been the first to break their handhold. Esti had won.

Esti, who smirked away her victory, a few steps across the floor, retrieving her glass of champagne from the ledge with a smooth swagger that was reminiscent of a New York hipster. Maybe the city around them was beginning to rub off on her after all. Ronit had a sudden inclination that maybe she had created a monster, a modern day Frankenstein, minus the horror.

“Maybe I’ll see you out there.” Esti said, fixing her dress. Ronit had everything to do with it.

“There’s a good chance of it.” Ronit replied drily, facing Esti across the room floor. The distance splayed between them felt almost cruel. “It’s my studio.”

“Is it?” Esti laughed-smiled, playing along. She delayed her departure for one final moment before she left the room with her glass grasped in hand. Ronit composed herself but not without the usual flashes in her mind. Esti, Ronit was glad to know, was barely managing to disguise her fluster, her cheeks hot and delicate with sporadic splurges of pink. They were both suffering.

Ronit headed back to the main room, tired but ready to see the final two hours out, for Esti if nothing else. She returned to the familiarity of her camera and tripod, and to the seamless background paper, greeting further guests, the shadow swaying in the back of the room as an itch she couldn’t quite scratch.

Esti’s gaze was heavy, heavier than before, her cheeks flushed pink under the bright lights.

Her eyes screamed that she was waiting.

Ronit was, too.

 

* * *

 

Esti’s hands were cold on her back. The probable cause being the remnants of an empty studio, the heat subsiding when the doors were locked for the night.

Esti’s hands were cold against her back because they didn’t quite make it back to their apartment.

Camera lights and studio boxes lay to the left and to the right, a messy scattering of items that had been mere obstacles in their way, as they made out in a room that, earlier, had been strewn with visitors. Ronit had lost her shirt somewhere between the main room and this one. Esti was currently on her back against the rigidness of the wooden floor, her fingertips drawing tightly against the smooth lines of Ronit’s back. The thrill was high and encompassing. Almost too much but steadily not enough.

There was also an air of rule breaking and rebelling filling the air. It spread in delay, crafting a cocoon of warmth that threatened to swallow the room whole; a potent and stark reminder of pre-existing intimacy.

It had become Esti’s second breath, a delicacy which unfolded naturally, like soap washing across skin. It’s as revitalising and youthful as Ronit is close, like time itself has been suspended, wound and broken. Years and years have passed by… but the soul? Ageless and immortal.

The room echoed with heavy breathing, with escaping moans and whines of desperation for more. It had been a long day and an even longer week but now the moment belonged to them.

They were alone - as alone as a building in New York can be - and the studio hummed with a static kind of silence, supplemented by the complimentary and distant reverberations of fading police sirens. Ronit’s camera - her trusted companion - was discarded a few steps away to the right. She had taken enough pictures during the evening but none as lasting as the candid and satisfying snaps of a champagne-laid Esti. The drink appeared to ooze sultriness, loosening her from the shoulders. All fitting, Esti told Ronit, for two Jewish girls in New York.

They had danced between the rooms, tired and free from conversations and photo opportunities, falling into each other’s arms like a well-earned and aimless first dance.

Ronit had given Esti ‘the tour’ - although her familiarity with the studio by this point was edging monotony - and Esti had asked questions, pretending that the photographs were falling fresh on her eyes as new. The Jewish Messenger was very thorough, she said. 

It all led to this.

To Esti’s back pressed against the studio floor. To Ronit’s hands trailing through Esti’s wavy, crimped hair and touches that caressed the soul.

Ronit smiled against Esti’s lips, thoroughly kissed, as she eased back, hands caressing Esti’s hair between her fingers. It was longer now, coming to rest a few inches above her shoulders, Ronit’s touch soft and intimate. Esti no longer hid under the synthetic hair piece that memories of London clung to like hairspray - she hadn’t wore it for months now - remnants of a past life. Ronit relented her brief side step into the past by brushing her nose against Esti’s, Eskimo style, taking a moment to absorb the simplicity of the feeling.

Esti was beautiful like this, pure. She wasn’t naked but her conscious and soul were bare and as clear as the window on the left hand side of the studio bay. Esti smiled; the grin that painted her features, and bright eyes glistened. It was electric and unspoken, the connection between them, remaining consistent in formation and unchanged, eternal.

Esti pushed up, bridging their mouths together as if the brief pause had been too long and too drawn out. She tugged Ronit closer, fingers tiptoeing across the material of Ronit’s bra strap as the kiss deepened and momentum grew.

Ronit had one hand under Esti’s dress and another placed against her neck. Esti could only gasp against Ronit’s mouth when she felt the initial traces of the first brush, the first caress, and immediately she wanted more. Kissing the soul was no longer enough - the motion had sailed to the finest points of expiration - now they had to touch it. Esti accepted the development with exuded euphoria and exhaled pants. Ronit’s movement was ever gentle, ever precise.

Esti felt the contact like a hand gripped lovingly around her heart. Ronit found arousal, found the physical remnants of an evening spent dancing around each other’s presence, armed only by words and something far more lethal, and her fingers slipped in with ease. The touch echoed with precision, the addition unfolding too sudden as Esti gasped, urging more, into Ronit’s open mouth. The touch sparked with lightening, powering through her body with an unstoppable pulse, Esti’s tiredness fading forgotten at the back of her mind because Ronit had awakened her soul.

Ronit wasted no time. She flexed her fingers, feeling Esti writhe beneath her, pleasure spread out, beginning slow as she gently brushed through her folds. Esti’s breathless pants and closed eyes were just two of the symptoms reaped to falling victim under a vigorous caress. 

The contact was cool, a breeze of calculation and trust, and Esti found her back angling from the floor as Ronit’s movement set to work. It was slow at first, delicate, almost as if Ronit was stretching out the act for another few, dedicated minutes.

And maybe she was. Payback, she equated, for the way in which Esti had left her earlier, vacating the side room on such a powerful high. Surprise had layered upon an existing struggle; one which was already heavy in weight. It was only reasonable that Ronit levelled the playing field. She encouraged the receipt of even odds.

They kissed between the delay - Ronit’s progression remaining slow in build up - mouths meeting hungry and messy, Ronit’s chosen and effective moment to skilfully increase the advancement of her fingers. Esti felt the adjustment like a cold graze against the skin, a close to hypnotic aura engulfing the room. The evolution arrived with a gasp, all airy, Ronit beginning to inch closer towards the point Esti so craved.

The cool smoothness conveyed by Ronit now lingered with emphasis, the studio around them shimmering with charged emotion. Esti’s breath was Ronit’s and Ronit’s was Esti’s. It existed in two parts; two parts that clinked together in place. Two parts that were whole.  

Esti gasped, her body arching, inflicted pleasure displayed by a sweeping eroticism. Ronit sensed the approach, that Esti was close, and redoubled her efforts, twisting, as she dug down. 

Ronit felt Esti’s body quake, felt her breath stuttering and subsiding, her gasps transitioning into a building moan. Unmitigated pleasure sprang from her core, reinforced by the essential ingredient of bliss, instantly and all at once. Esti stuttered, lips wedged wide by pleasure, as Ronit dug deeper, applying a fatal supply of pressure and the surrounding room, the floor and the walls - to the distant churns of police sirens in - all dissipated from existence.

Ronit kissed Esti’s lips before she drew a soft touch across her face, caressing, as her fingers remained in place. Esti was breathing heavily, swallowing the effects of a blistering climax, her eyes straying open in adept delay. There was a slow magic in her eyes, gleaming, with Ronit placed at the sparkly and central focal point. It flickered over, bright and shining, as it tunneled its way into her expression, sinking in like footsteps in sand. Ronit eased Esti through it all, through the spreading deposit of endorphins and love.

Esti’s hair stuck to her forehead with an implicit coating of sweat, her chest rising and falling, as she began to come around. Her breath remained stolen - Ronit the guilty culprit - missing in action against the haze of satisfaction.

It was a few ever lasting minutes before she came around, the regaining of her body slow and delayed.

Esti awakened with fresh eyes and a slight glow as Ronit’s fingers eased from within. Her gaze met Ronit’s, Ronit’s massaging hand sending a chill down the back of her dress and she shivered. Ronit shifted, brushing her hand against the material of her dark jeans, before she crawled into Esti’s side. It unfolded with ease, like they were back home in bed, and they fell backwards against the wooden floor.

Ronit slung an arm around Esti, lips brushing together with laziness and relaxation. When they eventually eased apart, Esti’s eyes drifted to a close. She felt Ronit's breath ghosting against her, gentle and tender, into the right hand side of her neck and the weight of her following words trickled out in adoration.

“You’re cold.” Esti followed up her summary by holding Ronit’s hand, fingers intricately weaving together. The action equated physicality of reassurance.

“After that?” Ronit’s voice was breathy and heavy as an eyebrow inched its way upwards. Her tone rang with hints of preposterousnessbecause it was surely not true. Esti disagreed, however, pressing her lips to Ronit’s hands.

“You are.” she added, murmuring against her knuckles. Esti’s lips were warm and Ronit laughed, shaking her head.

“Cold-blooded, remember?”

“ _Ronit"._

Ronit narrowed her eyes, reaching for her next go-to reasoning as to why she was cold. She could hand pick excuses like books from a library, no library card required. “I… smoke too much?”

Esti prodded her arm playfully. Ronit did, arguably, smoke too much.

“It’s a bad habit.” Esti chastised, playing with Ronit’s hand as Ronit played with her hair.

Ronit exhaled. “The best ones usually are.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“I do." Ronit’s words were solidified in truth it seemed. Esti’s eyes shone bright and heavy with desire. She inched forward, seemingly out of nowhere, kissing Ronit by surprise and hard before leaving her girlfriend yearning for more. Esti parted her lips, drawing away, her gaze forming dreamy as it developed the film of Ronit attempting to salvage the distant ghosts of self-control. The sight arrived with happiness because Ronit was struggling to steady her breathing, sliding closer into Esti’s side as she physically surrendered herself over.

Esti wasted no more time.

Her two hands gripped the warm smoothness of Ronit’s dark jeans, the process taking a slow second to complete, before Ronit’s belt was unlatched and hands were tugging them away. Esti moved, again, shifting closer as she kicked the momentary snag of Ronit’s jeans away. She leaned in closer, kissing Ronit’s neck, weaving a wet and wonderful path downwards, her arms falling into place as they wrapped around Ronit’s neck. It was loose but tight enough to be reassuring, Ronit’s pounding heart beating against her. Want was apparent and loud, especially in the way it wrapped around Ronit’s breathy utterance of Esti’s name.

Esti closed the gap between them again, kissing Ronit slow and with passion, her arms remaining looped in position around her neck, Ronit’s hair trailing against her arms. It was intoxicating, the intimacy, and when they parted, Esti’s head dipped down to press her lips to Ronit’s neck. The skin was smooth and temptation was soaring, lips lost to the endless abyss of soft contours.

Ronit shivered with arousal, Esti’s closeness adding fuel to an already existing inferno, and messy gasps of shortened breaths echoed in unison around the room. The touch against her neck relented and Ronit wasn’t sure if she could gauge it as a blessing or a curse because when Esti drew her lips away, Ronit immediately felt weaker and wetter. Her jeans and coverings were gone, sacrificed to the studio floor somewhere to the left, and it was becoming increasingly more apparent by Esti’s change of direction where her lips were headed next.

Esti descended, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and swipes of tongue. Ronit’s eyes were closed as she let go, her back feeling firm against the coldness of the floor, as Esti’s hair danced like electricity across her skin. A cloud of understanding engulfed the air around them, fizzling, as Esti slid her hands down, delicately opening Ronit’s thighs. The sense of anticipation built around them was pre-existing and already formed. Ronit writhed, implicitly exuding impatience, and Esti, Esti complied.    

She eased forward, nuzzling in, as she gripped Ronit by her thighs. The initial out stretched and tentative lick provoked a toe curl, Ronit momentarily jolting from the floor as she tried to retain a strict level headedness. Esti, however, had other plans. Ronit’s hands descended to grip Esti’s hair. The caressing was tender at first and overwhelmingly comforting, Esti savoring each second. She inched in, closer, her tongue gliding through Ronit with the aim of consuming as much of her as she could. Ronit was suddenly no longer cold.   

What began as tender and comforting then drifted to develop with insistence, prodding Ronit towards the verge. Esti licked with a gentle aggressiveness - an oxymoron of scolding fatality - altering the angle of infliction as she pushed her tongue to delve deeper, receiving in return a sound that was submerged in the dividing space between ecstasy and non-pleasure. It reverberated through Esti like an inner voice as she prodded Ronit closer to an increasingly nearing release.

All too quickly, Ronit was stalling, her lips parting way, Esti's tongue remaining and unrelenting until the movement receded, falling away. Esti slid back, shifting as Ronit convulsed - forehead luminous with gifted pleasure - and she kissed a pathway up her body that concluded at her lips.   

Ronit kissed Esti with bliss in her eyes and then there was the smile, the one that encompassed Ronit from her eyes to the entirety of her being, and Esti knew without doubt that the night wasn’t quite over.

The night wasn’t over - couldn’t be over - because Ronit had turned them over, effectively rolled them over, to a central position on the studio floor and it’s only then when Esti became exceedingly aware of the portrait hanging in the room.

It fell into her orbit like a meteor shower in the night sky, in a blur as they rolled over but the picture hanging above them was one she couldn’t shake. It stuck to her mind with magnetism because it was also really, __really__  huge.

“What?” Ronit said, breathlessly, catching a glimpse of the apparent look of bewilderment spreading onto Esti’s face as they readjusted. “What is it?”

“I can’t-” Esti caught her breath and she appeared to be suppressing a laugh. There was a grin threatening to erupt, the recognisable juncture that Esti would normally choose as her moment to duck beneath the bed covers and hide her face.

“I can’t have sex with you, in here.” Esti glanced at Ronit, sheepish, features brimming with comedy, her gaze referencing the portrait by a sudden flicker. The photograph overlooking them was imposing; tall and wide, one of the largest pieces on display. The canvas print was of a man staring, judging, sitting on a small studio seat. It was reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, in a way, because no matter which way Esti framed it - looked at it - he was looking at them. Ronit’s nifty ability to capture subjects had now turned deadly.

“I think it’s his eyes.” Esti clarified with finality. She descended into laughter, cheeks glowing warm.

Ronit gazed at Esti, amusement crowding her features. Esti’s face was a sight to behold; eyes that betrayed humour and equal trepidation, messy hair falling gently across her cheeks. It was like they were teens all over again, freshly walked in on, and no one - __no one__  - wanted to relive that.

Ronit snorted. “It didn’t bother you earlier.”

“I was…” Esti searched for her words, heat beginning to fill her face. “Preoccupied.”           

Ronit lay back, shifting on the floor. She inspected the portrait from her angle. The picture had never been a favourite but it had been a shot she had chosen to display nonetheless.

“He has the Rav’s eyes.” Ronit began, after a moment. She bit back her laughter. “Never noticed before.”

“Oh, don’t! _Don’t!"_ Esti’s eyes shut in complete defence, wishing she could unsee the seen. They were never going to live that one down.

Ronit’s laughter encased the room. Esti fought momentarily but ended up joining in.

“It is a slight mood killer,” Ronit admitted, amused. She looked at the picture again before she glanced to Esti. “Agreed.”

“‘ _Agreed _'?"__  Esti murmured, laughing with heart. Ronit was being ridiculously formal.

“It’s a _picture_ , Esti.”

“Yes. That’s looking at me, _at us!"_

“So,” Ronit breathed out, “just ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” Esti shifted, eyes wide. “Ignore... _that? _"__

Ronit sat up, bemused at the most unusual form of performance anxiety she had greeted thus far, retort as dry as ever.

“Usually my work holds better reactions.”

“Will you take it down?” Esti asked through laughter. “ _Please? _"__

“What, _now? _"__  Ronit’s amusement lingered in place. “Took forever to get the bloody thing up there in the first place.”

Esti’s eyes narrowed. She tutted in mock annoyance. “Excuses.”

“Or just a lazy editor.” Ronit touched Esti’s side. She’d vouch for that reasoning. “Fancy a coffee?”

Esti was not impressed. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

“ _Yes_. Yes, I am.” Ronit admitted, proudly. Her infectious smile found its way into Esti’s eyes. “Is it working?”

“Yes.” Esti glanced around the room. The darkness created an air of intrigue, like trespassing after hours in an abandoned building. “Coffee sounds great.”

Cigarettes and coffee. Two of Ronit’s favourite things. Three if she counted Esti.

Smoking soothed her nerves and flexed her confidence. Coffee prodded her soul and Esti; Esti loved her. It was a three part symphony and not complete without one or the other. As essential as her scarf and satchel combo on a cold, blistering day.

Esti made coffee.

The rich aromas wafted warm and pure as they stood in the upstairs office. Ronit had pulled on her jeans but refrained from retrieving her shirt. She stood, taking a substantial drag of a freshly lit cigarette as Esti stirred the coffee, the hot liquid looking appetising even in the low light.

Ronit observed Esti from the side, her eyes tracing the wispy lines of her hair and the way she had tucked them behind her ears. She looked regal doing the mundane; stirring mugs of instant coffee at seven minutes past midnight on a Friday night. Strictly speaking, it was Saturday morning now.

Ronit shifted on her feet, breathing out a mouthful of smoke. “Be my muse.” she said, exhaling.

“ _Muse _?"__  Esti glanced around, startled and amused. There was a pun in there somewhere.

“Yes. I’ll take pictures of you.” Ronit took another drag. Smoking seemed to spark her creativity. “We’ll take over the scene, here in New York.”

“And make this place your Factory?”

Esti had been learning.

“Exactly.”

“You already take pictures.” Esti passed Ronit her coffee, blushing slightly in the light. “Of me.”

Ronit thanked Esti. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It was personal, Esti reflected, a picture; the transference of a soul to a capture. Ronit held a knack for acquiring pieces of her soul, bottling them away like fragments of the mind. Ronit’s camera was a glass jar for infinite safe keeping.

“You’re still not getting permission to put them on display.” she said, sipping her coffee.

“Come on, artistic liberties.” Ronit stated over the top of her mug, hands encasing the rim, her cigarette wedged skilfully between a finger.

“ _Artistic liberties _?"__  Esti laughed. Is that what they called it?

“Yes. All for the art world.”

“You and your art.” Esti’s smile was radiant, as warm as the freshly poured coffee before them. “Are quite the pairing.”

“Don’t be jealous, now.” Ronit said quietly. The wafting smoke of her cigarette coated the room in a cloudy haze. “There’s still enough of me to go around.”

“Just as well.” Esti exhaled. “How’s the coffee?”

“Strong.” Eternally Ronit’s preference even in the early hours; the New York intricacies of her psyche creeping into fruition.

Ronit’s cigarette became Esti’s as they returned to the main studio room, gliding into it with a domesticity.

“Shall we go home?” Ronit asked, reluctantly breaking the comfortable silence.

“Ten more minutes?” buzzed the reply, Esti taking a drag and then a sip of coffee. Ronit was a bad influence but it was too late to stop now.

Esti propped herself down on a studio chair with complimentary backdrop, vowing to Ronit that she was not in the mood for posing. Esti’s statement, however, didn’t stop Ronit from retrieving her camera.

“I look tired, Ronit. My hair is a- is a fuzzy mess.”

Ronit gazed at Esti, the calming water to a fiery haze. “You look alluring.” she said, flicking on her camera. Her words spoken were authentic, inked in grain and layered with truth.

Esti, at once, felt a recognisable onslaught of fluster and heat crawl into consciousness. Ronit was being infectious again, her magnetism unstoppable in its charm offensive.

Ronit manoeuvred her camera, peering through the viewfinder. She eyed up the shot with precision and Esti sat back, feeling oddly at ease and relaxed. Ronit had worked her magic, words quenching all doubt. Esti took another drag, becoming the character Ronit was to photograph, and it ended like the evening had began; with a bright camera flash on the eyes but this time it lingered with meaning.

Esti turned and posed with a coffee and a gradually depleting cigarette for props, and Ronit worked her model like she was shooting for Vogue, enjoying the joviality of the scene as it cascaded around the room. She shot the art angles, Esti’s features captured delicately in the low light, against the white backdrop, Ronit’s ten minutes steadily becoming twenty.

Maybe Esti had been wrong in her earlier assumption about feeling a loose sense of belonging in a space that was very much Ronit’s.

It didn’t matter that the world around them was Ronit’s because all figurative walls had been outflanked by reconnection; a powerful catalyst that drew their souls together as one, all obstructions instantly obliterated upon impact.

This was New York;

New York with a sea of yellow cabs and busy footsteps over steel grills; a mere two characteristics of a city that held millions. Esti and Ronit were two tiny specks in a shaken snow globe, falling upon the city dreamlike and magic.

The city night echoed distantly in the background as Ronit’s camera flash sparked and Esti exhaled a sigh of contentment, brimming with cigarette smoke.

This was New York and it felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Disobedience_ touched my soul in degrees I could write a 10 page thesis about. It moved my heart in an unshakeable way and I haven't been the same since. 
> 
> This piece came together sporadically as I battle a 14,000 word writer's block. It wouldn’t leave my head until I wrote it out.


End file.
